


works by Zedicous Allister Gore

by oesterheld



Series: misc character backstory studies [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:28:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oesterheld/pseuds/oesterheld
Relationships: zedicous gore/serious white
Series: misc character backstory studies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923016





	1. give me one reason why

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gushingCoolness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gushingCoolness/gifts).



his hands are callous, his voice is whips

leather bound hurt, metal lips

in my head, i hum a song

count to ten, play along

his hands are clay, his voice is warm

his words in blue, outlined with scorn

gnarling teeth

gnashing bite

hidden beneath

“stay the night”

i bide my time.

_ i bide my crime. _


	2. weakness

carefully, my blood slips down my fingertips

don’t make a sound, don’t draw attention

to the stitches ripped open a mile north

it’s cold, where my skin peaks. mountains give way

to artificial valleys. the red river flows

down and out, all the way to where it’s

suspended. don’t make a sound, don’t show where

it hurts. it stings. it aches and crackles. it burns.

it is lava, bursting from deep inside

wasting away the cold, brittle crust 

and it’s heavy on my fingertips, but i insist

still, my blood drips onto the new carpet

even though i told it not to. even though

i was strong


	3. capaill uisce

the sea’s horses break the water

screaming like murder,

slick like blood.

imperfectly proportioned lines

run their course down my spine;

i’m paralyzed.

the saddle doesn’t fit the monster,

hanging off by its

rusted belt buckles.

they shriek in an orchestra:

out of tune instruments

left alone too long.

it is November, when they surface

it is November, when they hunt


	4. him

my life has become a balance of two worlds

one of homemade meals and set tables

finding new ways to say “i love you”

and mean it, make him understand the words

bodies fitting like puzzle pieces

i never liked children. i never liked anything

but i’m inclined to try.

he is unconditional; he is home.

the other realm is of blue and yellow skin

thick mud pulling me down into his grip

horses sinking to their deaths

pieces being jammed together, breaking

he is solid; he is pain

he is hot breath he is wet on my skin he is turbulent and unpredictable he is terror he is prison he is bruises where his fingers meet my skin and he is there

still there

always there

waiting


End file.
